


handle me with care

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Cooking, Coulson wearing flannel, Coulson's beard of sorrow, Daisy and Coulson's childhoods, Daisy being supportive, Daisy finding exploits for Coulson, Daisy in the red dress, Drinking, F/M, First Kiss, Rough Kissing, Skye | Daisy Johnson's Superpowers, Supportive Relationships, Wanting to not be SHIELD with each other, domestic feels, mentions of other relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 01:13:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5438012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mostly shipscuses and post S3 finale.  Title from the Travelling Wilbury's song.  Which is very Skoulson to me!</p>
            </blockquote>





	handle me with care

“How did you get past my perimeter fence?”

He stops and stares back at her standing in the tall grass, a row of trees behind her.

“Trade secret,” she says, putting her hands in her leather jacket and walking closer.  The grass is brushing against the tops of her legs it’s so high, until she steps out in boots onto the trail.

He sighs, puts down the axe.  How long was she standing there watching?

“Please, don't stop on my account.”

There's teasing in her tone, but he pushes the thought away.  Along with other thoughts about why she's wearing that red dress, for instance.

“Hi,” she blinks.  
  
“Hello,” he answers back.  
  
“You look okay,” she comments aprraisingly. “Even with that stuff all over your face.”  
  
He runs his hand over the week-old beard.  
  
“No reason to shave it.”  
  
“Not at the moment, no,” she answers quietly, then glances behind him at the cabin.  
  
“Are you going to invite me inside?”  
  
“Wasn't planning on it.”  He puts his boot down against the axe, stares at the ground for a minute then checks the area around them.

“What's in the bag?” he asks after, focusing on the brown grocery sack she’s holding.  Gestures towards it with his chin.

“A few essentials for your descent into the abyss.”

He doesn't find it funny.

“Snack cakes,” she confesses, giving an elaborate flourish to reveal the box from inside. 

That gets her a reluctant smile, but the idea must please her, because hers grows wider and so does his.

“Thanks,” he says, looking down again. And for a moment he feels like time has turned backwards. 

It can’t. There’s more he needs to do now.

“I'm sorry,” she says, picking up on his shift in mood. “I needed to see you.”

“Try to talk me out of it?”  The axe gets left leaning on the log and he gathers the split wood in his arms.

“No,” she answers. “May already did that. I'm here to help. In any way I can.”

He's not sure how to respond to that, just holds his ground as she walks closer.

“What do you need?” she asks, and she’s close enough now that he can see into her eyes.

“I'm not sure,” he answers slowly. “That you asked is more than I anticipated, honestly.”

“Mmm,” she hums, looks up and is searching for something. “You never ask for anything. Never have in all the time I've known you.”

“Clearly I was wanting space.” It sounds a bit more harsh than intended.

“You disappeared,” she clarifies. “That worried me.”

“It worried me, too,” he says, relaxing a little and walking back towards the cabin.

As they get to the door, he sets down the wood in the nearby bin, turns back to her.

“How did you find me?”

“Tracker.”

She shrugs at the awful look he gives her, and he huffs at that, but can’t find it in him to hold onto it.

“You eaten?”

“Nope.”

“Come in,” he says, conceding defeat and holding the door for her.

She looks around the inside of the cabin at the different pieces of paper attached to one wall, hones in on it immediately.

“This all stuff on Malick?” she asks, only turning back to him a little with her body.

“And Price. Where they've worked, how they've connected for over a decade.”

“There's a lot of overlap,” she notes.

“Of course. They were friends,” he says, taking the snack cakes out of the bag as he heads to the kitchen. “Coffee?”

“Sure,” she says getting more immersed in his research, touching her fingers to the different articles and images on the wall. “A lot of interest in aliens.”

“Or Inhumans,” he offers. “Specifically what was on the other side of that portal, I believe.”

“You think she was involved?” Daisy asks, suddenly swinging around to look back at him as he walks back towards her with cups in hand.

“I don't know. _Yes?_ Depends on the kind of day I'm having.”

“How is today working for you?” She takes the cup from him and sips it gingerly.

“I'm distracted, to be honest. Which is why I left.”

“Me? You're blaming this on me.”

“No,” he takes a sip of the coffee. “Myself.  Anyone know you’re here?”

“It's not like I made a general announcement. Just asked for a few days off.”

“By yourself?”

She stares at him for a bit, and he knows she’s holding something back.  
  
“Lincoln and I are on a break,” she says quickly, then drinks some more.  
  
“So I have you all to myself, then,” he replies, staring at the collection on his wall.  
  
“Seems that way.”  She watches him out of the corner of her eye. “Hey, what was that about eating again?”  
  
“I could make grilled cheese. Unless...,” he mulls it over, then turns to her. “Are you planning on hanging around?”  
  
“I can. I'm here. For you. Remember?”  
  
“Okay. Then you keep looking at this,” he nods to the wall. “And I'll cook.”

 

###

He manages to throw together some impressive tasting pasta, and even cracks open a bottle of wine.

She's let him know all of her thoughts on the web of HYDRA lies he's trying to untangle, and he's taken that all surprisingly well.

When she starts that conversation back up at dinner, though, he interrupts.

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Okay.”

“Not SHIELD or work related at all?”

She raises her eyebrows, not sure where to start. “Where did you get this recipe?”

“The pasta? From one of my neighbors growing up. My mom worked nights and sometimes she'd invite me over for dinner. I don't have the right flour, but these aren't horrible, right?”

“You have never made me anything horrible,” she says taking a bite. “Mmm,” she puts up a finger to cover her mouth. “Did you fend for yourself otherwise?”

“I did a lot around the house. To help out.” He pokes around in his pasta and then finally takes a bite, happy enough with the results.

“You sound so.... _domestic_. And helpful.”

He gives her a bit of a warning look as she continues. 

“I'm better at washing up,” she adds. “ _And_ sneaking booze.”

“At the same time?”

“Yes,” she rolls her eyes. “Of course.”

“You don't have to sneak or do the dishes here,” he says raising his glass to her.

She cheers with him and sips her wine.

“No, I insist. You cooked,” she continues, taking another mouthful.

“You brought dessert.”  Now he’s just being silly.

“Maybe we should do it together, then?” she suggests. “I wash, you dry. Like a team.”

“Deal.”

When they're carrying their plates to the sink later, he turns on the faucet and she pushes his hand away and puts hers on either side of the water. He watches the water twist in a spiral.

“ _Daisy_. “ Saying it like it's a miracle word.  
  
“Pretty cool, huh?” she asks, grinning, enchanted by her own trick.  “It’s one of the first things I did when I tried to control them. My powers.”

She lets out a squeak as he splashes it at her, and then grabs his wrist when he attempts it again.  
  
“Phil! No,” she orders, sternly.  
  
He chuckles deviously like he likes her bossy tone, and tries to wrench free as she goes for his other hand and it twists hers around behind her back.  
  
“Robot hand is cheating! No powers.”

His grip is solid around her other wrist. “What can I say? I'm a cheater.”

He holds tight to her, biting on his bottom lip as she tries to get some kind leverage.  “Why did you come all this way?” he asks, now that he’s got her pinned. “Wearing that dress?”  
  
“What's wrong with this dress,” she asks looking down at it. “Other than it's wet?”  
  
“There's nothing wrong with it, of course. That's the whole problem.”  
  
“I didn't want to be SHIELD, okay? I wanted it to just be _us_.”  
  
“We've always been-“ he wants to argue.  
  
“Not really. I wasn't when we first met,” she says, and her eyes flash at him. “And you weren't always so-”  
  
He releases her arm and she takes a step back from him.

“No,” he agrees.  “I wasn’t.”

“And I just wanted to see you,” she says, resting her hand on the back of one of the chairs at the table. “To connect. I didn't expect to find _this_.”  
  
“What does that mean?” he asks, a little wrong footed.  
  
“ _You_ ,” she gestures at him. “Wearing flannel and being all scruffy and...hotly domestic."  
  
He doesn't say anything at first.   
  
“Are you offended or turned on? I can't tell.”  
  
She makes it clear by walking up to him and giving him a quick and very dirty kiss.  
  
“Does that answer your question?” she asks, letting go of his plaid shirt, and pushing him away as he chases after her mouth.  
  
He connects with her, another hard kiss, and she gives it back to him, feels him lift her, getting her on the kitchen table behind them as he kicks the chair to the side with his leg.  
  
His face is between her hands as she keeps attacking his mouth when it seems like he might pull away, but he’s just trying to get a better angle and more, just like she is.

Then his fingers slide up the sides of her dress and she gasps at the shock of the contact on her bare skin.  
  
“I wish I still had both hands,” he tells her with an apologetic look. “If you want, I can-“  
  
“I don't mind,” she says, pulling his prosthetic back against her thigh when he tries to remove it. “I just want you to keep touching me.”

She rushes out a breath before kissing him again, feels his tongue push against hers. His hands squeeze at her hips, then pull her flush all the way against his body.

It makes her groan into his mouth, the bit of friction she’s getting between them as he settles between her legs, and he answers with his own low groan. He pushes her dress up higher, out of the way.

She leans back on her arms for a moment, watching him grind up against her in his jeans, holding onto her hips, while she sucks on her bottom lip.

“We should slow this down. Do it in bed,” he tells her, leaning forward over her, catching his breath.

“Take our time?”  Looking at him this close seems like a sudden luxury.

“I want to take my time with _you_ ,” he says quietly. “Save the table for breakfast.”

She laughs at him, lets him kiss her slowly.

“You sound pretty hopeful,” she says, pressing her thumb against his chin.

“I do."

He grunts, and swings her up into his arms.


End file.
